


Flee The Scene

by LucySpencer



Series: Those Graces [42]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Love You, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kathy is not an idiot, Not Happy, Not What It Looks Like, POV Second Person, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This keeps happening, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, but first it will piss you off, nick is a hipster, seriously what am I doing, the truth will set you free, you guys this is getting out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucySpencer/pseuds/LucySpencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>brunch at the stabler's, part II- where everything goes to shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flee The Scene

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long chapter, so it’s getting a short intro. You know what I’m going to say anyway, that I love you all so much and I want to take you all to dairy queen for ice cream and please feel free to add me on twitter at lucythespencer because I love “meeting” you nice people.
> 
>  **A/N:** this is not a nice chapter. Sex and violence and a disturbing blend of both so please, *please* consider yourself warned. And things *will* get better...sometime in a future chapter. Title and quotes from _Expo 86_ by death cab for cutie. I mean it, this chapter is brutal.

_{sometimes I think this cycle never ends  
we slide from top to bottom then we turn and climb again}_

"Elliot," you say tersely, and maybe you should drop the attitude because you _are_ in his house, but that still doesn't mean you signed up to be under surveillance. 

That gets Brian's attention real fast, and his head whips toward the sound of Elliot's voice like he's a kid who's just been caught sneaking out the window. How the hell did he make it as a UC for over three years without blowing his cover? "Oh. Hey there, man. Heh. What's up?"

"Liv. Can I talk to you?" he asks, ignoring Brian, and for a second it seems like he's forgotten why he came in the first place. "Kathy says the food's ready."

You and Brian both start to walk past him, but he reaches for your wrist as you walk by. "Elliot. What."

"Just need to talk."

Brian's at your side, unmoving but scowling, and he has to be able to feel the anger that's radiating from you right now. "It's okay, babe, I'm sure whatever he has to say, he'll make it quick." When he doesn't budge, you try again. "Bri. Go ahead, I'll be there in just a minute."

"What, he can't say it in front of everyone?"

"Brian. Please?" He gives you a hard stare, looks toward Elliot, and then looks back at you before saying something unkind under his breath and walking away. When you're sure he's out of earshot, you turn on Elliot and hiss "What the fuck's going on?"

"I could be asking you the same thing. What the hell were you doing?"

"Uh, talking to Brian, what'd it look like?"

"You kissed him," and you knew this was coming but you still can't help taking a moment to reflect on how this is already perhaps the stupidest argument of your life.

"Yes. I did. Or if you wanna get technical about it, he kissed me. Is that a problem?"

He laughs snidely and you have visions of your fist connecting with his face. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"What's that even supposed to mean? I'm allowed, Elliot, I know this isn't what you want to hear but you _don't own me_. Even if it's your house."

"That's exactly right, it's _my_ house. So you think it's okay to show up and start- what if it hadn't been me? What if it'd been Eli that saw?"

"Saw _what_? That was like...it was a peck on the cheek," you say, wondering if Elliot's been hallucinating or if he's just no longer able to look at you without picturing that time he fucked you up against the shower wall and you bit down on his shoulder hard enough to draw blood when you came. (You also wonder how he explained that to Kathy). 

"I'm trying to raise my son to know right from wrong, Olivia, and it's already hard enough to explain to him why the two of you live together when you're not even married. That's not exactly the example I want him seeing-"

Now it's your turn to laugh and his turn to look like he's imagining what it'd be like to haul off and slug you. "You can't be serious. I mean, I can't even be angry because what you just said was _that_ ridiculous. I feel like I should be congratulating you just for having the balls to judge _me_ when it comes to morality, since-"

"Since what, Olivia?" he asks, arms crossed and smirking because he knows you're not going to say it, _since you were the one fucking me_ , not inside his house of holiness he's got going on here. 

"Do you realize what a shitty job of acting normal you're doing right now? You might as well have just told Brian that you've- look, I don't want to be here, you don't want me here and this is awkward as all fuck but we just need to act like adults and deal with it. Are you capable of doing that?" You're practically toe to toe now, you can feel his breath on your face and smell him all around you and it shouldn't be possible to be this turned on when you're this angry.

"I dunno."

"You dunno."

"I dunno. Are you capable of getting up off his dick for an hour? I get that you're needy, but jesus."

You abruptly take a step back from him and then another, drawing yourself up to your full height and staring him squarely in the eyes because you will be goddamned if he senses even a single drop of emotion coming from you that isn't coldhearted fury. This is nothing new; you've both known for years upon years how to cut one another to the bone. But it's different- worse- now that you don't have anything left to hide behind when it comes to him. He's seen you shaking in fear and smiling over at him from the other side of the bed, heard you sob and moan and curse his name both with and without an orgasm involved. He knows what you taste like, what you see in your nightmares and what it sounds like when you say _I love you_ and mean it. You've let him into your bed and your heart and your head and there's no kicking the fucker out now, which may be the reason why your plans change in a fraction of a second and you launch yourself toward him, shoving at his chest with both hands. "You piece of shit, don't you _ever_ fucking talk to me like that again or my _God_ you'll regret it."

"I'm-"

"I don't wanna hear it. You've already let me know that I'm good enough for you to fuck, but not enough to be around your precious family. That's plenty of the jealous asshole act for today."

"You think I'm jealous of you and him..." It started out sounding like it was going to be a question but then trailed off into an incomplete sentence, as if the lack of punctuation would prevent you from strangling him. 

"You're not? So what, you've been glaring at us since we walked through the door...why is that? It's not because it pisses you off that I'm fucking someone else? So if I was to tell you that a couple hours ago we were screwing each other senseless, you wouldn't have a problem with that?"

"Shut the fuck up, Olivia."

"Oooh. Did I hit a nerve? Maybe I should give you all the details. You're already an asshole, so you might as well have a good reason for being one," you point out, and you wish you could show this whole conversation to your past self as a prime example of Why You Shouldn't Sleep With Elliot. "I'm not your property just because we fucked a few times, do you understand that? I don't owe you anything. You can't tell me to go live my life and then get angry when I do, saying I'm _needy_...why are we even beating around the bush, we both know what really saying. You think I'm-"

The sound of a cough gets your attention, and you see Maureen standing behind you with a hesitant frown on her face. "I'm. Sorry, I..."

"You're not interrupting anything," you assure her, pushing past her father before anyone can say anything else.

_{I am waiting for something to go wrong  
I am waiting for familiar resolve}_

"What's going on?" Brian asks under his breath as you sit down at the table next to him, and how are you supposed to answer that? We're planning a surprise party? Rehearsing a play? You can't exactly use the good old fallback excuse of 'work stuff' anymore. "Did he say something to you?"

"Nope." Elliot sits down across from you and you're pretty sure you both must resemble those Greek comedy/tragedy masks right now, you with a pasted on smile and Elliot looking like his car's just been repossessed. Maureen, meanwhile, is busy staring down into her glass with intense concentration. 

"If no one minds, I'll say grace," Kathy says, and you aren't really the praying before meals type of person, but all of a sudden you are _thrilled_ to have an excuse to sit silently with your eyes closed. 

That is, until she launches into some sort of rambling diatribe that lasts approximately three hours and resembles a prayer only in that it begins with 'gracious heavenly father' and ends with 'amen'. In between are numerous references to her family (she is 'blessed'), unnamed burdens (she knows 'the Lord tests us so that we might become stronger'), and personality flaws ('Lord, I know that you're teaching me to be patient. And forgiving. But it's not always easy, God'). By the end, she and Eli are the only ones who still have their heads bowed reverently- the rest of you are just kinda looking around at each other, silently debating at what point it becomes acceptable to cut off the pray-er and go on eating. Thankfully, before anyone could give it a try, she uttered the most passive aggressive 'amen' ever known to mankind and you all instantly started talking at once, afraid that she might take advantage of the silence to add 'just one more thing'.

"So are you a musician yourself?" Kathleen asks Nick, who scoffs and gives his admirers another million dollar smile.

"Nah, I wish. I do some art, though. Mainly watercolors."

You're trying very hard to keep from laughing, because the only 'art' you've ever seen him do was coloring together with Zara- he's just full of surprises today. Surprises like taking Rollins to hipster concerts in his free time. Which, if that's all it was, wouldn't be an issue. But Nick, like Brian, has a terrible poker face, and by the way he nearly threw himself out the window as soon as Amanda's name was mentioned- you know they've been sharing more than an appreciation for vintage typewriter music. 

"Do you play any sports?" Lizzie gazes appreciatively at Nick's forearms. "You look like you work out."

"She's 20 years old," Elliot grumbles, stabbing at his food with his fork like he's driving a stake through the heart of a vampire.

"Yeah, I do...maybe not as much as I used to," Nick says, and you think this is what the kids call a 'humblebrag'. "I played some football in college." 

You very nearly choke on your drink, and now all eyes are on you. "He was a fourth-string walk on. Never actually got any playing time." And maybe it was uncalled for, and maybe you should've just let him have his moment of glory, but where did he get off keeping huge secrets from you when he knows pretty much every detail of _your_ life? That stings, Amaro. 

"So where is it in Mexico that you were living, Maureen?" Nick asks, suddenly eager to take the focus off of himself. 

"In Acapulco. We loved it; we're hoping to move back once Benjamin's a few months old."

"Man, I'd love to go there. I bet it's beautiful...speaking of traveling, you know where else I've always wanted to go? Russia. Brian, you ever been to Russia?"

"Huh, what?" Brian has obviously been too busy with his staring contest versus Elliot to pay attention to the conversation. "No...why would I go there?"

"I dunno, just seems like something you would do. You know any Russian?"

"Nyet."

"We've got some wonderful Russian families in our parish," Kathy says. "I'm working with one of the women to have the materials from my class translated for them."

"Oh yeah, Liv told me about that. It's about how to keep from getting pregnant, right?" Having learned from your mistakes last time, you pre-warned Nick about what Kathy's class entailed. "You know who could really use something like that?"

Kathy asks who, and Nick looks right at you and smiles. That little shit.

"My sister. God love her, but she tries to solve all her problems with her...well, anyway, she gets herself into this situation where she's pregnant but can't be sure who the father is! It's a terrible thing. Just terrible. I mean, who does that? If you're gonna sleep with two different guys, be smart about it, you know?"

"Nick, I don't think your sister would want you to gossip about her," you say.

"I'm just concerned for her. I try to keep her on the right track, but she doesn't listen...I guess all I can do is keep her in my prayers. I've tried to contact Oprah too, but I'm still waiting to hear back."

Everyone murmurs sympathetically, but by some miracle you and Nick seem to be the only ones who are in on the 'joke'. "So when is she due?" Kathy asks.

"Hmm?"

"Your sister, when is she having her baby?"

"Oh, right, my sister. It was, uh, it was a false alarm. You know women- am I right, guys?"

There are still no 'guys' paying attention to him, unless you count Eli. "Your sister didn't know who she made a baby with? That's silly!"

"That _is_ silly," Nick agrees.

"Thanks for that, Junior," Elliot says. "Eli, be quiet and stop playing with your food."

The room falls silent, save for Eli giggling quietly to himself. Elliot notices how Brian's hand is resting on your knee and slams his glass down so hard that you're amazed when it doesn't shatter. 

Kathy smiles beatifically at everyone gathered around the table, and you wonder how she gets through life without drinking heavily. You'd like to know her secret. "Olivia, did Elliot tell you we're going to Boston for our anniversary next week?"

"He did not," you say, resisting the urge to ask why she thinks he would tell you (or why you would care). 

"Thirty two years and it feels like yesterday," and again, why do you care? You wonder if Elliot was planning on telling you he was going out of town or if you were just supposed to assume he was busy when he didn't answer your calls. Now Kathy's smiling at you once more and you can barely contain your excitement to find out what's gonna come out of her mouth next. "You know, you two are such a lovely couple. I have a feeling it won't be long before we're watching you walk down the aisle."

"Kathy, leave 'em alone. That's their decision. None of your business." Brian looks overwhelmed with gratitude toward Elliot, probably for the first time in his life. 

"Fine," Kathy says a little too forcefully. "How do you like being sergeant, Olivia?"

"It's been...interesting so far. I feel like I'm sorta winging it, but I probably always will."

"I heard about that orphaned baby you found. They still haven't tracked down the parents?"

You shake your head, not wanting to get into another baby-centric discussion. "He's with a foster family right now until they're able to find them. I wish there was more I could've done, but..."

"I told her, Liv- you can't bring home every stray you find. We've already got this one," Brian says with a laugh, motioning toward Nick, and does he actually think before he says these things? You've had enough- of him, of everyone. You stand up without warning, making some excuse about a call you need to take before hurrying out of the dining room.

"Good going, Cassidy," you hear Elliot grumble, (as if he himself is blameless) before you shut the door to the guest room behind you. 

_{sometimes it seems that I don’t have the skills to recollect_  
the twists and turns of plot that turned us from lovers to friends  
I’m thinking I should take that volume back up off the shelf  
and crack its weary spine and read to help remind myself} 

You sit down on the corner of the bed, leaning back on your hands, and you don't look out the window this time because there's nothing to see, just like there's nothing for you in this house other than reminders of what you're not. You're not a mom, you're not a wife, you're a part-time mistress and part-time shitty girlfriend and you never even suggested to Brian that you should be baby boy Doe's foster parents because you're also not an idiot. Neither of you are ever home, your medical/psychological report would be something out of a horror novel, Brian's got a past arrest for sexual assault of a minor, and your most recent claim to fame is being 'that cop who may or may not have been kidnapped and raped.' That's a wholesome, all-American couple right there. 

It's not that you think you'd be terrible parents- like Brian said, if you had been pregnant, you would've made it work. But after having been rejected before, the last thing you want is another expert analysis of all the reasons why you _shouldn't_ be one. You've got that list committed to memory already.

You cross and uncross your legs uncomfortably, once again feeling like you're crawling out of your own skin, and you're overwhelmed by the urge to climb in the shower and stand under the cold water until you're numb to everything but the way it stings as it rains down on you. You've heard somewhere that you shed your skin completely every two or three months. You used this info to try and reason with yourself, to convince yourself that, in at least one way, you're literally not the same person you were last spring. But is that even true? 

_«that was so good, sweetheart»_ and he's lying on his side next to you, propped up on one elbow like this is some casual post-coital chat, like he hadn't just- _«aren't you going to thank me?»_ and when you narrow your eyes at him his demeanor instantly changes, it earns you a knee to the gut and then he's got his hand around your throat, _«say it. tell me thank you for letting me-»_ and then it's a blur, you can't remember the rest of the sentence or whether you said it back but you know you must've because when your memory picks back up he's calm again, smiling and _«so was it everything you thought it'd be? oh come *on*, you knew it was only a matter of time before someone saw you for who you really are. for years you've seen the absolute lowest of humanity, and you put on a good mask but you *know*. you're not so different than them. only instead of hurting other people, you wanna be hurt. you know you're dirty and disgusting but you're too afraid to admit it. thank god I'm here to fulfill your sick fantasy, huh?»_

You shake your head and the pain from that small movement makes you gasp, drowns out the tiny 'no' that's barely more than a whisper. _«denial. wow, you're in deep. let's think about this. why didn't you pull your gun on me when you first walked in? you've barely put up a fight this whole time. even when I was right there next to you, empty handed, and all you did was suck me off- not that I'm complaining, but seriously, that was your chance! you've had so many of them! am I supposed to believe that the big badass detective can't take out a common criminal? gimme a fucking break.»_

you handcuffed me. you drugged me and beat me and held a knife to my throat while you- _«shut up. shut the fuck up. you wanted it. you. wanted. it. and you can tell yourself and your little friends and your therapist whatever the hell you want to believe. but I promise you, one night you'll be lying there wide awake, wondering why your mind can't shut it off and let you sleep, and all of sudden you'll realize- I was right. I was right all along.»_

nononono. You're startled at the sound of your own voice, not even realizing that you were speaking out loud, and you're barely able to keep yourself from pitching forward and falling off the bed. He's wrong. He just wanted to fuck with your head. He's wrong. He doesn't know you. You've gotta get out of here. 

Your knees start to buckle as you stand up, and when you grab the edge of the desk to steady yourself, you catch sight of a book that's lying on the floor underneath. You automatically reach to pick it up and when you see the title, your eyes widen: The Big Book Of Sex.

Well, well. Naturally you have to flip through your new find, which includes lists such as 'Best Places For Sex Outside The Bedroom!!!' and 'Best Positions For Marathon Sex!!!' (apparently every chapter was exciting enough to deserve multiple exclamation points).  
You note that the page with '8 Tips For Better Oral Sex!!!', complete with a sketch of a guy sitting on a woman's face, is slightly dog-eared, and oh God you are so done with this book, with this house, with your entire life-

"Hey. Sorry your boyfriend's a dick," you hear Elliot say, and if that's not the pot calling the kettle an absolute fucking asshole...

"You," you spit out, and you know the smart thing to do in your current emotional state would be to turn and walk away, but with his words from earlier still ringing in your ears and now this? The smart thing's not gonna happen. "Now it's _my_ turn to have a word with you."

He nods toward the door that leads from the back of the house into the garage and you follow him, glad he at least has enough sense to try and make sure you won't be interrupted again in the middle of a compromising situation.

"You are such a fucking hypocrite," you say through clenched teeth once you're safely tucked away in the back of the garage, hidden behind a shelf that keeps you out of the sight of anyone who might come through the door. "Please, _please_ explain to me why I can't even make eye contact with Brian while you're working your way through the entire Kama Sutra. Because I really want to hear your excuse for this."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The book that was lying on the floor in the guest room! I'm gonna say it's not Eli's, so-"

"What book?"

You roll your eyes because God, does he have fun being deliberately obtuse? "The Big Book Of Sex, Elliot."

"What? What's it called?"

"That _is_ what it's called! And just from flipping through it- Jesus, I did _not_ need those images in my mind- but whatever, I don't care what you two are doing. _Do not care_. But for you to say-"

"Wait, wait. I still- I've never seen this book, swear to God, and I'm pretty sure Kathy hasn't either," and you don't want to know what he's basing this opinion on, "but even if she did, she wouldn't keep it there where Eli might find it! The only person who uses that room is Lizzie, when she comes home from school, and- oh God. Lizzie?"

Both of you momentarily forget what you're arguing about, giving each other stunned looks, and you're afraid there's about to be some uncomfortable conversations in the Stabler house. "Elliot. Maybe she's just-"

"You're jealous."

"Of Lizzie?"

He shakes his head in a way that tells you that he's done discussing his youngest daughter and her (potentially quite creative) sexual exploits. "Who's the hypocrite now, Liv? You're the one ranting about how I have no right to be envious of you 'living your life', fucking that dumbass, but the second the tables are turned...how funny is that?"

"I don't care what you do. She's your wife, do whatever the hell you want. No one's stopping you."

"Hey," he says when you try to turn away from him, standing as close as he can behind you without actually touching. "I haven't...not with her. Not since the last time you and I..."

You close your eyes as if that'll block the sound of his voice, trying not to flip through your mental calendar and figure out how long ago 'the last time' was. "I didn't ask, El. Didn't need to know."

"I won't do it, not when I know she's not who I want. It's not fair to anyone."

"None of this is fair to anyone," you say, ignoring how his arm has snaked around your waist and his face is pressed against the back of your head. "And I don't know what the fuck you expect me to do."

"What d'ya think?"

"I don't. I've stopped." When he doesn't say anything in response, you sigh. "Look. We _agreed_...you said it yourself. He's the one I have a future with. Not you."

"Doesn't mean I can't hate it. Because I do, and you can tell me what a selfish son of a bitch I am as many times as you want, but I'm never gonna be okay with sharing you."

"And I'm really fucking sorry you feel that way, but this is how it is. Whether you like it or not...you know as well as I do. We can be friends, we can fuck around every now and then, but it ends there." His fingers are curled around your side and it feels like they're burning holes through your sweater and down into your skin and god _damn_ it why does he have to make everything so difficult?

"And you're okay with that. You can go on living like that and acting like everything's fine."

"Yes," you lie, and what the hell is wrong with him that he doesn't realize how you're poisonous? He has everything, everything _you_ want and will never have, and you'll do whatever it takes to keep him from jeopardizing that because you can't let yourself drag him down with you. 

"So this entire time you've been here, the only thing you've thought about is how you can't wait to go home and screw dumbass."

"Why are you so obsessed with thinking about me having sex with him?" you ask, struggling halfheartedly to twist out of his grasp. "You might want to bring that up with your therapist, cause I think you have some sort of inferiority complex and-"

He puts his hand out on the table in front of you so that you're trapped between his arm and the wall. "Are you fucking serious? I doubt he even knows how to get you off."

 _«you beg for it like a whore, jesus, does that boyfriend of yours not get you off?»_ You freeze, trying to force the intruder's voice out of your head. "Elliot. Shut up."

He misinterprets your obvious discomfort, thinking he's about to win you over, and his mouth is ghosting across your neck. "So if I said I want you right now. Right here. You would say..."

 _«say it. tell me thank you»_ and nogodno, this is so fucked up, you can't, not with everyone else around, just on the other side of that wall... "They'll come looking for us, El, we can't-"

"I can be quiet, can you?" His teeth brush over your pulse point ever so lightly and _«what the fuck did I tell you about staying quiet? you stupid bitch, if you can't keep your mouth closed-»_ You claw at his forearm, the one that's still resting against your stomach, and you can feel him pressed up against your ass and he chuckles. "Not like I'm gonna last that long, anyway."

It won't last. It never does and you know this is *wrong*, _«but she's so vulnerable and desperate for attention that she doesn't care»_ , you hear echoing in your mind, and you just want to shut it off so you abruptly turn around, reach for the back of Elliot's head, and crush your mouths together. It's not sweet, it's not romantic, it's biting and warring tongues because you can tell yourself he loves you a million times a day but when it comes down to it, this is all you'll ever have and it's all you have to offer. _«no one wants my leftovers.»_

His palm's covering your breast over the sheer material of your bra, and your nipple hardens so quickly under his touch that it's almost painful. "You want me to stop?" he asks when he hears you whimper, and you know you should say yes but instead you just shake your head. "Oh, you changed your mind? That was quick."

"Fuck you," you whisper angrily, even as you make no moves to stop him from hiking up your skirt. You know he can feel how wet you are through the silk of your underwear, and you're not even surprised when you automatically start rocking against the heel of his hand- your body's already betrayed you more than enough for one lifetime.

His fingers are slick as he touches you and you're still sore from this morning, another reminder of why you shouldn't be doing this- because Brian's a good guy and he doesn't deserve that, he doesn't deserve *you* and everything you've put him through. _«I've ruined you for everyone else, sweetheart»_ and nogodshutup, you're not doing this, there's no way you should want this while that voice is still in your head, and then you gasp when you feel the cold air on your ass as Elliot shoves your skirt up further and you are so, so done for. "You're okay with this?"

You nod as you hear him fumbling with the zipper on his pants from behind where you're now standing, your face to the wall. You've got both palms on it to support yourself, his left hand covering yours, and you can feel the head of his cock rubbing against you. 

"Liv...I need to hear it, yes or no, you've gotta be sure," and you know he's just trying to look out for you, that he's only asking because he genuinely doesn't want to push you too far, but you have to choke back a sob before you can speak because saying yes makes it all too real, that you _know_ what's going on and you know what this makes you and yet you want it anyway.

He's cautious as he's entering you, but it ends there. From then on it's rough and it's urgent and it fucking *hurts* but you don't even think to try and stop him because ohgodit'sgood, he's got one hand pinning yours against the wall as he fucks you and _«you wanted him to hold you down and just take you. like the dirty whore we both know you are»_ and ohgodyoushouldn't and there's this sick mixture of guilt and shame swirling in your head but it only makes you crave it more because this is the kind of disgusting person that you are, that you've always been, even back when you thought you’d never sleep with your married partner or nearly kill an unarmed man or let yourself become a *victim*. _«you. wanted. it.»_

You can hear Elliot’s breathing becoming more ragged as he starts touching you again and you don't need it, you're so wound up already and it's too much, especially with the way he keeps pounding inside you but you don't care about the pain. It's sofuckinggoodohmygod, better than thinking about how you're willingly having sex with someone who wants to fuck you in secret but doesn't want you around his kids, or about how your rapist knew you better than you know yourself, knew you'd never be good enough in Elliot's eyes, or even about how a few hours ago you were fucking someone else, like you're being passed back and forth between-

And right then it hits you, you let your head fall back and bite your tongue so hard that it's bleeding as you feel yourself tighten around him and hear how he groans your name into your ear. _Liv. Fuck, Liv, I..._

He stops for a second while he's still inside you, kissing the back of your neck. _that was so good, baby_ , and for the first time you're wishing he'd add that dreaded I love you. But the words don't come; he just kisses you again before he pulls out and then he's pressing a wad of kleenex into your hand silently.

The taste of blood in your mouth makes you gag, and it's only then that you notice the saltwater drops that are landing on your bottom lip. "I'm fine, I'm fine," you whisper hurriedly, but you're not, you're a mess, you're bleeding and crying and it hurts when you try to walk and you just had the most incredible orgasm of your life and you're too far gone even for Oprah to fix (sorry, Nick). 

"Jesus, Liv, what the fuck happened?" Elliot asks, and when you make the mistake of glancing at him you see that he's absolutely stricken, pale and confused and looking like he's going to be sick. "What's wrong...shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, did I- why didn't you tell me to stop? Shit..."

 _Because I didn't want you to_ , but you can't say that, not when he looks so fucking guilty, you know he'd die before he hurt you and this is all your fault, you knew you should stay away from him but you gave in because you wanted to be fucked and now you're dragging him down into the mire with you. _«thank god I'm here to fulfill your sick fantasy, huh?»_

"Liv? Liv, where are you?" you hear Nick call out. "Liv? These girls are starting to scare me, I need to leave. There’s no telling what they might do to me."

You swear to yourself, frantically wiping at your eyes and straightening your skirt and giving up on trying to fix your hair. There's no time for goodbyes.

"Liv, I never- fuck, I'm so-"

"Don't. Just leave me alone."

"Liv-"

"I'm _fine_."

_{I am waiting for another repeat  
another diet fed by crippling defeat}_

The floor is bright white, blindingly so, when you open your eyes. You tilt your head upward only to be accosted by the light on the bathroom ceiling. Fuck.

"Turn that shit offff," you complain, and your voice is so slurred and groggy that you barely recognize it as your own. Your throat feels sour, acidic. You know you must have been throwing up. "Brian? Bri, what the hell, what'm I doing?"

You're 'looking' around for him, as well as you can with your eyes closed, and you're startled when you hear him speak and realize he must be right in front of you. "You're passed out on the floor, that's what. I'm trying to get you back to bed."

"Goddamnit." You don't have to be told that you've been drinking, although you can't remember any of the specifics. You remember the silent ride home from Queens, how Nick made some excuse and bolted as soon as you got back to the apartment, and how Brian had gotten angry when you wouldn't tell him what was wrong. "Not everything is about you!" you had shouted when he tried to apologize for his earlier stupidity, and all you wanted to do was take a shower or twelve. You remember locking the bathroom door behind you, clicking the lock with as much force as possible to make sure he would hear it, and then...you ended up here. 

As you slowly manage to get yourself into a sitting position, you open your eyes again and, despite your blurry vision, you'd swear it looks like he'd been crying. "Come on," he says tiredly, pulling you to your feet and helping you slowly make your way toward the bedroom.

"What happened?" you ask, trying to remember any little sliver of the past few hours that might explain why he looks so positively fucking _broken_. "I don't remember."

"Probably better that way."

You have a vague recollection of hearing yourself screaming drunkenly, of swearing and crying and being unsure whether the words were yours or your mother's. "Did I say something?"

"You said a lot of things." Despite his barely concealed frustration, he still pulls back the comforter for you and waits for you to get settled in bed before covering you back up.

"Like what."

"It doesn't fucking matter, Liv, you don't remember it now and you're not going to remember this in the morning so let's just leave it alone and get some sleep."

When you try to turn onto your side, your bare legs brush together and you realize you've got a large bandage stuck about a third of the way down your left thigh. "Did I...how'd that happen?"

"Your leg? I have no idea. All I know is I couldn't get it to stop bleeding. Thought I was gonna have to take you in to get it stitched up. While you were still puking."

Fuck. "I. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Remember that next time before you drink the whole bottle."

"I'm. I. Did I say-"

"Goodnight, Olivia."

_{I am waiting for that sense of relief_  
I am waiting for you to flee the scene  
as if you held in your hand the smoking gun  
and on the floor lay the one you said you loved} 

**Author's Note:**

> a few quick end notes to answer questions I know you might have: no, nobody caught them going at it. This time. and no, you don’t get to know what olivia said. use your imagination for now (because I know y’all have crazy imaginations!), and it’ll come out eventually...


End file.
